


Hold Tight

by Tribunus



Series: Pisica Vagaboanda: Actuality [1]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Age Gap (Adults), Alcohol, Canon Divergence, Implied Sexual Content, Imprisonment, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Prison Construct Erebus HC, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Underwater, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 17:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16246664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tribunus/pseuds/Tribunus
Summary: Year 001 6E (63 years old)Two weeks after Endgame.Pict puts a prison break in motion, interrupts a nap, and unintentionally loses borrowed property.





	1. Jo

“Get ‘er loaded up quick–right lads! Ye all read Teach’s letter. Should be already haulin’ ass down towards the ol’ Rock, ain’t got time fer more fuckin’ ‘round with the barrels!”

“Aye cap’n!”

 _‘In a bit of a pickle.’_ I snorted and thumped the clipboard.  _Aye, ye usually are, ye damned lentil._

“Jo!”

I turned to see a familiar sight trotting towards the docks, unmistakable between the mess of hair and the way years of working air magic carried his feet a bit further than most.

“Ho, Pict!”

I dropped the clipboard onto a nearby crate and rushed forward to bundle him into the crook of an arm, forcing a low _whoof_ out of him. My free hand ruffled through his hair, until he wriggled free and I got a better look at him. Bedraggled, like always, but without any of the usual smugness that accompanied it. More grim, like he’d either been sick or crying.  

 _Shit._ “Whatsit?”

“You’re headed out soon?”

“Aye, ‘bout to go ‘n skirt ‘round Karamja, meet back with Bill.”

“Can you make a stop on the way?”

“Can ye do yer shit up’n with the sails?”

He gave me a look. I stuck my tongue out.

“Ask’n a dumbass question. Aye, done deal. ‘ll go tell Katrine we’ll be gone bit longer. Go on up wheel–ward, toss Adrian the list there on yer way.”

He nodded, wrapped his arms around my torso – a more brief and less dangerous hug than usual – then took the clipboard and darted off. I watched him cross the gangplank until he wasn’t at risk of toppling off.

I pivoted again, took my hat off, ran a hand through my hair, licked my teeth, and headed towards the hill that housed a very well–armed wife.

_Better start rehearsing, I reckon._


	2. Pict

 

I stared down at the water that churned below. A gaunt face and a single pinprick of blue stared back. I'd already dug up the map from out of my case, and tacked it down on the table near the railing.

_Don’t know why she agreed to this shit so quickly. Fucking dumbass to drag her into it._

With two plucks I drew a cigarette out of the case in my pocket, tapped the end to light it, and inhaled.

_I'd do the same in her spot, but she hasn’t got any damn… I guess it’s an advantage._

Smoke leaked from the corners of my mouth, curling upwards as I tapped ash into the harbor.

I tried to push out the lingering guilt, only for the thought of the way _he'd_ looked to creep in on its place.

Battered and... Empty.

Tired.

Resigned.

_I'll be fucking damned if that's the last I see of you, bitch._

 


	3. Jo

“Pull the anchor, ‘n get our plank lifted ye fucks! We’re out!”

“Aye!”

I adjusted my hat and marched on up to where Pict was half hanging over the railing, barely suppressing the impulse to tug his shirt back so he wouldn’t fall off.

“... Ye good?”

He wiped his eye with the underside of his arm as he straightened back up, then tried to make the gesture nonchalant by re–hanging his cigarette from his lips. “Fine.”

_Aye, and I've been married under Saradomin for all these years with me husband and five youngins._

I let him stick to his bull and eyed the map he'd staked to the woodwork.  “Lookin' like an island then?”

“It's underwater.”

“Sunk'n then.”

“... Something like that.”

 _Mm–hm._ “What language that'd be on it?”

“Some written druid cipher, according to where I got it.”

“That'd be?”

“Man in the desert.”

“Same'un that brought you down off that mountain with yer balls half frozen off?”

“Same one.”

“Ye ever fuck?”

He took another uneasy drag of smoke, and I got the hint.

“'Rak's horns, he's got damned small lettering. Can't read the half o' it.”

“It's fucking terrible, isn't it? Should be more damn legible for the important bits, pestered him into trying more there.”

“Hats off.”

He snorted quietly.

“The rest’s just what's down there. Not anything to worry about up here.”

_Aye, I see 'prison' there, “not anything” my arse._

“Seems on the way we’re goin’ already, shouldn’ toss us off by more’n a day or so, dependin’ on how long it’ll take. Lookin' to make a coin off't?”

He rested back on the railing, and took another long inhale.  “Just... Getting something out.”

“Hm?”

“Someone.”

_Pict…_

“What kinda someone?”

He paused again.  “Just some dumbass.”

_A'ight._

“Well. Will go'n make you up a quarter, then go back't herdin' these buffoons into hurrying.”

“Large cot?”

 _Big dumbass, is he?_ “Can drag one out.”

He nodded, sinking back into the distant look I'd found him with. I clapped him on the shoulder and started back to the stairs.

“Jo?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

 


	4. Pict

“A'ight Pict, can lay off her for the night!”

My arms were quivering as I dropped them back to my sides, cutting off the flow of runes. The wind trickled back down to a murmur, and I dropped to my ass with a huff. Jo traipsed up and crouched down next to me, plunking a tray onto the wood boards.

“Sylvester made grub up; ye got the stomach for it yet?”

“My guts–”

“Meaning fer _food,_ ye great damn tick.”

I took up my bottle instead, and from the corner of my eye saw her forehead crease disapprovingly.

“We're onta three days out and ye've barely nibbled at the shit, ye need ta _eat_. Thin as a damn reed. Even without yer fancy bullshit, good wind's liable to come'n sweep ye off the deck. Eat some damned bread at least.”

I begrudgingly held out a hand and she shoved a small muffin into it. I didn't bring it to my mouth, but didn't put it down, so she let the topic rest as she settled into her bowl of chowder.

A line of it dribbled down her chin when she spoke up again, despite her attempts to catch it first. “An' been meanin' ta ask, where's yer coat?”

“My... oh. Lost it.”

“Lost it?”

“Was shredded. Not in the way you're thinking.”

“Damn miracle that is, got torn off ye often enough. Lucky it stuck around as long as it did. Ye gettin' a new one?”

“Might. Depends.”

_Depends on if he shoves one at me or not._

I picked off a few crumbs and rolled them through my fingers.

_Depends on if he's alive enough to care if I'm wearing it._

“Hat?”

An uncomfortable feeling settled into my chest and I took another swig of whiskey to wash it out.  “No. Don’t have it now.”

“Phased it outta the ol' wardrobe?”

“Yeah.”

“Well ye look a damn sight less like a Tower bast–”

“Jo.”

She pursed her lips, nodded, and focused back on her bowl.

We sat together quietly until she'd finished, put her bowl back onto the tray, and leaned back onto her elbows.

“... So, uh.”

“Hm?”

“About the, eh, _'dumbass'_ ye mentioned when we were settin' out.”

I choked down more whiskey than I meant to.

“Pict?”

 _Fuck._ “What?”

“Ye mind if...?”

I waved her on and hit the bottle again. It didn't convince her of anything, but she started in on the questions I hadn't exactly looked forward to.

“What's yer connection?”

The collar at my neck felt a bit tighter.

“We're...”

“Together–like?”

“Yes.”

“Ye don't sound sure.”

“No, just– We're getting through a... I guess it's a rough patch. We were just set back by–”  I made a gesture towards the water.  “This, a bit.”

“He put 'emself out in fuck–all nowhere to be a broody bitch?”

 _Not beyond the shit he's pulled up until now._ “No.”

“Other folks do 'em in?”

An uneasy memory tried to creep back in.

_He hasn't been 'done in'._

“Yeah.”

“What fer?”

I started, then paused.

_How the fuck do I explain that shit?_

“It's... He's fucked with a lot of motherfuckers.”

“Mm.”

“Instead of–”   _Mmno._ “– They thought it would be better to contain his ass.”

“And now yer goin' 'n getting' his ass out.”

“My ass has needs.”

She snorted and pretended to slap my forehead with the back of her hand, but instead just stole a cigarette.  “Aye, must be impressive to actually get ye determined. How's he for ye, compared to the rest of 'em?”

“Less stable.”

“Not what I asked, ‘s it? Asked how he's doing for ye, specifically.”

I hard–swallowed again. “... Better.”

_Would probably be a lie for anyone else._

“Ye?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. An' don't gimme that 'stability' shit, ye never been a stable motherfucker an' never will be.”

She jabbed at my chest with her spoon to make a point.

“'S better to get someone who goes with ye on that, rather ‘n try 'n change it. Now, look't Katrine 'n me. Been some hairy damn decades, innit, but we're managin' by bein' like–minded in what we're lookin' fer outta each other. Neither's the settlin' type, like ye know, so we do're own things 'n come home when 's time to recuperate. 'S not perfect, but life’s like a damned ongoing work, aye? Work'n progress–like. 'Course me bein' able to bench press 'er, and 'er havin' that knack fer dull daggers… Certainly not harmin' things 'tween us, mmhm.”

She winked.

“Aye, ‘n did I finish tellin’ ye about the ol' bird dilemma? Got it on a loan, right? An' I come traipsin' on in while she's nestled up in silks, kitted on out in the ol' uni, an–”

She  _had_ told this one before, once or twice, but I didn't mind. Smoke curled up to the night sky from both of us as she talked, drifting from one awful – endearing – story to the next. She sounded happy, grounded in where she was, and my chest started to unknot.

_Someone with the same shit as me._

By the time the stars had come out, she was outlining a terribly bawdy shanty she had been writing up for her. Her occasional yawn matched mine, and my eyelid began to droop. I couldn't remember who'd started to drift off first.

That was okay.

It might all be okay.

 


	5. Jo

The week ended. We were close, or as close as I could tell with no damn markers in sight.

“Pict, cut 'er off! Folks, get that anchor movin'!”

“Aye, cap'n!”

Pict's non-vocal confirmation came as a tense exhale and the sound of him collapsing onto the deck above us. I tromped up to him and crouched down, bothering his hair.

“Ye got a plan ta get down to this ol' chair of yers?”

He grumbled under his breath and sat himself back up, good–naturedly batting my hand away.

“Suppose I do.”

_‘S not comforting, tick._

His briefcase clicked open a few feet away, influenced by a gesture; he grunted as he stood up, approached the lid, then clambered down inside. I followed and lingered on the deck, watching as he fumbled around ‘below’ in the non–plausible and visually upsetting pocket shed. Both in the sense that sheds did not belong in cases that were only reasonably as wide as a hand, and in the sense that he absolutely refused to keep it tidy.

I couldn’t stop myself from snorting at the sight of a familiar box among the mess – one stolen from a shop display, touting _50% OFF All Wands_ – and he shot me a knowing smirk before rummaging through an armoire. He set out his dagger, then a pouch of runes, and set to securing the first around his leg. What seemed to be an afterthought prompted him to toss his cigarette case inside, bothering a familiar goblinesque marmalade cat. I waved a few fingers at Ollie. He ignored me.

I felt blessed.

“Motherfucker left me some shit on loan.”

“Wizard shit?”

“Wizard shit.”

“Aye. What flavor?”

“Dead shit.”

Still like a damn business practice to him, apparently.

“Same shit yer ol' boss was into?”

“Something like that.”

He pulled a few small pellets, no bigger than a finger joint, out of his pocket, flashed them up to me, then put them back.

“Aight.”  _Dunno how yer fitting anything useful in that, but you're an embodiment of large things fitting into small spaces.  So aight._ “Ye ain’t bringin’ any click–clackin’ motherfuckers onboard, yea?”

He shook his head, pulling the final knot on tying the rune pouch to his belt.

“Only bringing him up when I’m done.”

My hands gripped the sides of the briefcase, bringing us face to face as he tried to climb back up.

“The hell ye mean _when_ **_yer_ ** _done?”_

He clambered past me despite the attempt to block him, shooed my hands away, and closed the case.

“You're not going.”

_"And why in–”_

“I can't haul down enough air for two people.”

_“Bull!”_

“If anything happened, I'd be fine. You wouldn't.”

_"I'd–”_

“I'd be fine.”

I didn't like that look. That _I know shit you don't and don't ask_ look. _Motherfucker if ye–_

“Jo.”

“... Gimme a time.”

“Half a day.”

“Then ye got twelve hours, and if ye ain't back I'm haulin' the tank out.”

“I will be.”

_"Ye'd better be.”_

“I will.”

I returned his damn look with a different one, more intense than his one eye could ever muster up. He didn't flinch, so I added a finger point to make sure his scrawny ass _knew_.

He just started to tie his hair back.

He was determined.

It was unsettling, unlike him, and liable to get him killed.

I didn't like it.

 


	6. Pict

I stood on the ship's railing like it was a balance beam, rolling my feet to counteract the gentle push of the waves.

“An ye'll be careful–like?”

“I will.”

“That's two hours 'en.”

“Twelve hours.”

“Ye get in, an' ye get out, then back up 'ere faster'n I can get Katrine screamin'.”

“I will.”

“An–”

I toppled backwards before she could extract any more promises. The water was frigid, like daggers driving into my flesh, and I gasped from the shock, whining into the thin membrane that bubbled over my face.

Once the sensation numbed I set to tacking on enchantments to weigh me down, to warm me up, and to protect me from the slowly mounting pressure, until I could settle into some mockery of comfort.

The sea was crushingly dark, and even with protective wards in place, the sheer claustrophobia of the situation couldn’t be waved away.

_Just breathe, bitch._

_It's like a blindfold._

_You’ve already got one eye out of commission most of the damn time, just doubling down like it’s a good fuck._

A nice thought. It still didn’t really help.

 


	7. Jo

“An' I'm just sayin' I don't like it.”

“He's only been gone two hours cap'n.”

“Aye, an' I don't like it.”

“Maybe if ye'd siddown, take a load off, we got cards–”

“Clam it Adrian.”

“Ye been starin' at the same patch o' water–”

“ _And I'mma keep starin_ _'._ Bastard'd do the same shit if it were me.”

“... Aight.”

 


	8. Pict

My feet struck sand, and with a sweeping gesture the mesh expanded. My clothes dried quickly, a welcome side–effect, and I took a moment to breathe deeply. Eye closed, I slid a hand into my pocket and removed the bone capsules.

I worked them between my fingers, wearing away the casing until the enchantment within seeped out. The attuned relocation spells that fizzled in the dark displaced them from the tombs they were meant to linger in, temporarily dragging them through the abyss.

I waited until I could hear their armor scuffling.

“Alright you three. Big shit to get done and not a lot of fucking time to do it.”

I tried to tug at the string that my right eye insisted was there.

“Ahrim, we need some damn light down here.”

He rumbled unhappily from somewhere to my side.

“Now, with all _due_ respect, we did not agree to this.”

“I did.”

“Verac! _I_ did not agree to this. We should _not_ be complicit in returning the wretched monster that enslaved us.”

“Why ever not?”

_“Why ever–!?”_

“Perhaps,” Guthan interrupted. “We have our reasons to volunteer for this. The importance is clear, even if not to you.”

“You could have left me out of it,” Ahrim hissed.

“We’re killing two birds with one stone.”

“Aye.”

Silence lingered for moment. Light begrudgingly blossomed from Ahrim’s staff, flooding the bubble.

“Are you done?”

“We are.”

_Right._

“Then we walk.”

 


	9. Jo

“At _leas'_ sit down cap'n.”

_"Adrian.”_

“'S only been four hours!”

“Four 'n a half. 'E's got a smidge over seven left.”

“Aye, smidge over seven 's plenty. Now yer makin' everyone antsy, c'mon an' sit.”

She shot me a look saying _I'd sooner stuff sand up yer gills_ , and I held my hands up in front of my chest, palms out. “Aight, aight, fair. Can keep... Starin' at the waves 'en. But sooner ‘r later–”

_“Rakssakes, sh!”_

 


	10. Pict

The precipice rotted away below us. Ahrim's light revealed the intricacies of the reef graveyard that stretched deep into the ravine.

Into the thing _within_ the ravine.

Where the seafloor ended and the creature began was difficult – fucking impossible, at this visibility – to tell. It was like a proper mountain to itself, its upper spines distant in the murk, but clearly larger than any living thing should support.

We had to make our way down slowly, between the choking remnants of vegetation, the dead coral that were as much hazards as they were footholds, and the sheer abrupt nature of the incline.

The mouth of Erebus, its lower jaw nestled against the silt like the bastard cross of a flounder and a castle gate, wasn’t exactly what Wahisietel had described. It was clearly _meant_ to be impenetrable, and might have been at the time the documentation was written, but it now looked as dead as the reef around it. Teeth that were supposed to interlock were chipped and parted, allowing us to slip into a mouth that was torn, like something that was swallowed had refused to go down quietly.

Maybe several somethings.

Dark sludge pooled around the bottom, not unlike a swamp flooded after heavy rainfall. Ragged gills choked in stale air.

I dispelled the bubble around us, and smacked Ahrim’s back to goad him – and the light – onward. A dry flap ahead offered passage down the ‘throat’ and further into the prison.

The sludge became deeper as we walked; claw marks carried more that leaked down the walls, with a smell and consistency reminiscent of decay. Whether it was from Erebus or a creature that had been consumed, I didn’t know, but the extent of the internal damage suggested the latter.

Most of the lining was left hard from ages of scars calloused over. The walls themselves were thick, packed tightly with knitted tendrils that snared and bound those trapped here.

I recognized a few of the armor styles, most likely prisoners from the first God Wars, or earlier.

_Or maybe Aeternam’s doing._

They stretched on, no more conscious than Erebus itself, alongside members of races that had decayed fully, their bodies unable to handle the full term of imprisonment.

My heart sped up at the sight of the better preserved soldiers; in an old nausea at the memories of victims caught in spiders' webs, and in anticipation of the chance they represented.

“He’s in with them, somewhere. Watch the right, I’ll stick on the left.”


	11. Sliske

The canal was quiet tonight. It twisted into sloping arcs, collecting the run–off from leering smiles cut in the stonework.

_Surely it wasn’t always like this?_

I felt that I would have remembered if they were. It itched at me. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to focus on it.

_Her, on the other hand._

Trin, I could, even in the haziest sense of the word.

Teeth both missed and met mine.

Claws that felt too distant pricked at my arms. Gouged at my sides. Traced around the edges of the burn that warped my shoulders before settling on my neck. I tried to return the same, and instead they caught my wrists.

The water around us churned from rolling hips and heavy lungs. We should have been sinking, and some part of me acknowledged that, before dismissing it as entirely unimportant.

I could afford to.

I surrendered myself to the draw.

And for a second, her lips felt more real.

 


	12. Pict

At some point I lost track of how long we walked, and of how many prisoners we checked.

My eyes had started to glaze over from repetition, exhaustion, and the old type of malnourishment whose return my body didn’t agree with. I needed a smoke, badly, but there was barely enough oxygen as it was.

I pulled the remnants of a crunchie from my pocket, now dry from the bubble’s earlier dehydrating component. Bringing my hand up, I tilted my head back to catch the crumbs and flakes of chocolate as they fell.

My boot nearly slid out from under me as it hit the junction of drier flesh and ooze. Swearing, I caught myself, but was forced to drop the half–assed meal.

_The absolute fuck is this shit, getting in the damn way of–_

Ahrim’s light shifted as he turned somewhere behind me, and my eye latched on to familiar shapes set in the far wall. Ridges, grey skin, sharp features, robes that were ruined but unmistakable.

I nearly fell forwards as I plunged into sludge between us, which went deeper then I realized. It clung to my waist as I pressed forward, slowing everything to an infuriating crawl. Something shuddered in some deeper chamber, and I faltered – _“Keep an eye on whatever the hell that is!”_ – before refocusing.

He wasn't fully bound yet. The restraints looked like fresh shoots, lighter in color and softer than the wall he was embedded in. Strong enough to keep him upright, but not enough to stop him from sagging. His face was tense, like whatever toxin Erebus used as a sedative hadn't fully taken hold.

 _"Sliske,"_ I hissed as I got close. The angle he was at let my hands find his face, even if I had to get on my toes to do it. He was clearly alive – had to be, considering he hadn't crumpled like Lucien or Jhallan – but it was feeling his breath again that drove the relief home. I pressed my nose to his, then met his lips. Just for a second.

He didn't respond.

_… Then be like that, I guess, ass._

I could hear that Ahrim had started arguing with the other two again. The light scattered off to other corners, and I turned to catch sight of their silhouettes bullying him off dry ground. I rubbed a hand down my face and turned back to the wall.

Getting him out wasn't going to be simple. I didn't know how the prison would react to him being extracted, and I didn't have any damn backup plans if pulling him out went badly.

 _There might not even_ be _any damn resistance from it. Motherfucker looks as unresponsive as he does._ I brushed my fingers against one of the restraints.

_Will just fucking get in there with him if it doesn't work._

The light turned back to us. The ink rippled as Verac and Guthan waded up to where I stood, with considerably more height–afforded _ease_ than my twink–ass had been afforded. I drifted back a pace, looked the situation over, then moved up again, pointing.

“Verac, get his other arm. Guthan, grab his waist. If it starts doing _anything_ , tear away at it until it damn well _stops."_

“And after?”

“You'll have to carry his ass.” I made a vague gesture towards him. “I sure as fuck can't. After he's out we'll book ass back for the mouth. Get the fuck out.”   _Before Jo tries some shit that gets her killed._

They nodded, and we adjusted ourselves into our respective spots.

“Ready?”

“Aye.”

“Yep.”

I nodded, planted my feet as best as I could, and pulled.

Traction was hard to find and harder to keep, but for a moment I thought we’d get away without a hitch. The wall loosened, letting him sag further and giving us a chance to get a better hold.

Only to start pulling back, redoubling its effort to keep him enmeshed.

Adrenaline screamed in my ears as I slammed a boot against the wall, one arm clinging to his while I fumbled for my dagger beneath the murk. Guthan and Verac had let him go, instead focusing on trying to rip apart restraints that writhed in hostile irritation; I was left alone in trying to directly keep him out, and for my effort, my head was wrapped around by the same new snare that grabbed his arm.

The dagger was less than ideal for carving through the situation, and I knew that. I sprinted through the options.

_Too many growing in, and the shit itself’s too big to fuck with._

_Total scale means any emboli would be broken down before causing clogs, if it’s even got veins._

_… Can isolate the area behind him, build up enough pressure then–_

I twisted my wrist and stabbed into the lining where we sank, driving in until the walls agonized against the press of the hilt.

_I’ll probably lose it for this, but good riddance._

The other two were starting to lose their own fight, and I readjusted my grip.

I inhaled.

_Alright._

 


	13. Adrian

I'd gotten her to finally eat _something_ when the ship rocked.

Eight hours of fighting, and the damn thing just _had_ to rock. She scrabbled back to her feet and darted to the railing, nearly throwing herself off as she stared over the edge.

_"Ye feel that?”_

“Aye, 's the wind.”

_"Ain't no damn wind Adrian, ye daft fucker.”_

“Certainly ain't him.”

She scowled and walked off, inhaling like she was about to start barking orders.

I sighed and followed.

 


	14. Pict

The wind was knocked out of me as I landed, and any that might’ve lingered was forced out by Sliske landing on my better half. The sound of metal hitting flesh landed some feet away, accompanied by two explicit groans.

The cavern trembled under the weight of the reverberating scream, sparking ripples in the ooze. Something groaned further into the depths, like a lumbering form stirring.

The noise from earlier. Something clicked.

_Claw marks, intrusive floor contents, the fact that Erebus is–_

I scrambled to shove him off as the convulsions grew stronger, hindered by the ooze that left us both slick. The ripples lapping at the stone now seemed more ominous, like fingers dragging for a hold. I knew all I needed to, and managed to get out something between and wheeze and a yell.

“We’re LEAVING. _NOW.”_

Verac and Guthan were already up and crashing towards us. One shoved Ahrim’s staff into my hands as they took sides between Sliske’s legs and shoulders. I nearly demanded that they watch his back, to not touch shit that still hurt him, but manifest hands grabbed at both my attention and my ankles.

A sickening crunch met them as I stabbed down with the butt end of the staff, and I pivoted. The spell illuminated countless more as they drug themselves from the depths, their source spitting distant, foul mutterings. I turned back at the low, short whine behind me. Sliske had _shivered._

“BACK TO THE MOUTH?” Verac called.

Ten biting responses sprung to mind, but I swallowed them down. I cast another look back, exhaled, and _ran._

It was enough of an answer.

They followed.

 


	15. Adrian

“Ten. Hours.”

“'Rak's sakes Jo, yer expectin' this to be like a damn _house robbery.”_

“Water’s been rollin’ like it’s in a fuckin’ hot–bed and ‘s only gettin _more randy._ How _else_ am I supposed to be treatin' it? Damn _bake sale?”_

I opened my mouth to retort.

She grunted, threw up a rude gesture, and continued to scale the rigging.

 


	16. Pict

We exploded into the mouth, clung to by remnants of fingers on our ankles and gunk on the underside of our boots. Sliske was still shivering. I slid to a stop near the broken teeth, which creaked as they slowly – futilely – tried to tighten against our escape.

I looked back, towards the encroaching prisoner.

“Prop him up near the exit.”

They did.

I tossed the staff towards Guthan, and severed the flow of magic that kept them displaced by the seeds.

Then only Sliske and I were left.

I tapped on the wards from before as I approached him, my throat tight, before adding a new parameter. A tether, a bind, that would keep us from separating.

_Can’t carry his ass, but can sure as fuck direct where it drifts._

I wrapped an arm around his torso, shifted closer to the gap, and again looked towards the hands that were nearly upon us.

_Can push them back, buy time. Toss us with momentum in the process._

I inhaled. Prepared a third cast.

And exhaled.

 


	17. Pict

With a cough I dropped control of the sails, and retracted my arms under the blanket Jo had wrapped around me. I shivered at the spell’s back–draft and pulled it closer, then turned to look out towards the wake. We were going quickly now, cutting through the upset waves with precision Jo always assigned to the Crandorian craftsmanship.

Nothing seemed to be following us. Nothing near the surface, nothing audible above the crashes and the sounds of voices below. I grunted at the aches left from the rope net that had snatched us from the water, which buzzed irritatingly as I bent down to pick up the bottle from where I’d left it.

I took a mouthful, then a second, and exhaled into the neck.

_I’m forgetting something._

A dull fuzz droned on in my head, like it had been stuffed with cotton. The whiskey would at least help to replace it with a more familiar dullness. I took another sip.

_… Tired. Too old for this shit._

The steps from the quarterdeck creaked as I stumbled down, not too different from how I felt. I turned as I reached the bottom, towards the doorway that lead to the lower decks, and nearly collided with Jo.

She caught me with an _“Oof!”_ , her arms wrapping around my shoulders in either a surprised hug or a reflexive choke–hold. She adjusted the blanket then mostly let me go, beyond a hand that stayed between my shoulders to shepherd me along.

“Aye, c'mere. 'S get you down, ‘s late. Will get folks up’n lookout fer whatever that shit’d be.” She paused. “Got yer, eh... Dumbass.”

I snorted.

“Aye, him. Got 'em situated. I suppose. There’s eh.” She went quiet again. “There’s talk over him”

 _Expected._ “Mhm.”

“Pict?”

I grunted out an acknowledgement.

“... What is he? ‘S he what– _who,_ I think?”

I drank a bit more, my good eye locking with hers. She chewed her upper lip, exhaled, and nodded.

“Morning?”

“Mm.”

“Don’t weasel yer ass out of answerin’.”

“Won’t.”

“Aight.”

She patted my back and ushered me into the spare room. “Rest yer ass up now, hear me? Got breakfast together, you ‘n me.”

I nodded. She ruffled my half–damp hair before slowly drawing the door.

The room went dark.

I stood there, listening to the crash of the ocean, and to the low, faint breath coming from the far end of the room. I let the blanket drop, then took a last swig of the bottle. With heavy limbs I tugged off my boots. My pants and shirt dropped in a frigid, damp heap, and my eyepatch landed atop it.

I picked the blanket back up, now bare except for it and the leather around my neck, and shuffled towards where I heard Sliske. My free hand grazed his shoulder as I felt my way along, and a mixture of relief and exhaustion crashed into me.

_Still here._

Awkwardly, unsteadily, I found my way across him, and then beside him. I spread my blanket out, then crawled under his. They’d peeled away the singed robe remnants that had been caked to his skin, and left him on his side.

I took comfort in the familiarity of his chest curled against my back, and in the fact that he had stopped shivering. I tugged his limp arms around me, and my fingers found their way between and under his. I rubbed a thumb across his skin, bringing his knuckles against my lips, and felt tears begin to well as his weight relaxed and settled onto me.

His arms blissfully, _rightfully,_ tightened.

 


	18. Ahrim

My feet betrayed me as much as my damnable brothers did. My head submerged as I yelled out at them – _contemptible fools, wasting all of our lives, and for_ ** _what?_** – only for the foul gunk to choke me. I bobbed up, enough to see them trot away like the damn dogs they were, before an undertow that the other side lacked pulled me down.

I tumbled beneath the surface, struggling to catch a hand–hold on any of the flesh–cavern’s grooves. My head, instead, felt like it struck the majority of them.

Direction escaped me as I was swept away into some far cavern, where the flow eventually subsided, and I could struggle back to drier footing. It was darker than even I was used to, and I felt a lingering sensation that something was off.

It took me several minutes of idle wandering to realize it was the threads that bound my heart. They felt loose, for the first time in the ages of agonizing tenure, and I nearly cried out in elation!

_Could I, in this hellish place, find my rapture?_

With no bonds to reanimate me, could I die here, beneath these waves? Would my spirit find release and adjourn to its proper resting place?

My thoughts were interrupted by the piercing scream that rang through the prison, its source seemingly the very walls themselves. Clapping my hands to what remained of my ears did me no good, and so I began to run further in.

_I refuse to contemplate my eternity surrounded by demonic howls! No more trials, no more demeaning tribulations; I demand to receive my due! May the rest of them be consumed by whatever this is they’ve sparked, it would be more than merciful for the travesty they’re complicit in–_

For the second time, my feet betrayed me.

I had reached an unseen slope, and my attempt to stop only sent me reeling forward into a foul tumble, until I fell from some manner of ledge into a steep drop. How long it lasted, I couldn’t pin, but it succeeded in bringing me somewhere distant enough to muffle those damned cries.

_A bit like a grave._

The thought lingered as I pushed myself up, dripping with more of the murk that pooled here. And I succeeded in this motion, until I moved to step forward. Something tugged at one of the boots I had been fitted with, a vise on my heel. With a grunt I attempted to use my other heel to scrape the offensive trap away, only to find the situation replicated.

A chill ran down my spine as the feeling spread, like twin sets of arms traversing my legs as one would a rope.

“NO!”

I struggled to kick free of them, letting out an involuntary scream as my back struck a wall that writhed beneath. Hard, cold arms embraced me, unwavering against my attempts to claw myself free. Fingers slick with muck drug for my flesh, sinking in through the cloth until my veins screamed for release and my ears rang with utterances more chilling than those I’d been freed of.

“I WILL NOT!”

More fingers, some smaller, found their ways into my ears, coating the insides with the same substance. The silence around me was muted, replaced by a low, warbling song from the depths.

“PLEASE!” _I had nearly–_

_So close to–_

_The maw–_

_Can’t–_

_Saradomin–_

_Sliske–_

 

 _Xau-_ _Tak._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xau-Tak won't be showing up past this point for Pict's foreseeable canon. Keeping them quarantined to Erebus, really not interested or comfortable with addressing that situation after the ED3 developments.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably a widely out of context fic, since at the moment the rest of Pict's timeline is still only in my notes, but I'm hoping to eventually get everything filled out more.  
> Basic gist, Endgame concludes with Pict unconscious and drug off while Sliske is placed in the custody of the construct Erebus.  
> There's some tie-in to a planned WGS fic, Pict bothers Wahis for about a week until he relents in helping him re-locate Sliske, and at some point after that this deal here happens.


End file.
